Shortbread and Shadows - Amy Lane Page 0,4

dance they’d practiced often to set up. Bartholomew’s friends didn’t always stay for the whole event, but Lachlan had to admit they were great at setup and takedown.

Except in this case they both kept stopping and looking around, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief whenever things appeared perfectly normal.

“Can I help?” Lachlan asked after a moment when their shaky hands were making him twitchy.

“Sure,” Kate said at the same time Bartholomew said, “That’s kind, but we’ve got it.”

Kate leveled a killing look at Bartholomew. “Isn’t that how we all ended up in this mess in the first place?” she demanded.

Bartholomew looked at her unhappily and swallowed, then looked at Lachlan and smiled shyly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you, Lachlan. That would be nice.”

Lachlan had to refrain from holding his hand up to his heart, because it fluttered badly. “What do you need me to do?”

“If you could shake the tablecloth out and set up the racks,” Kate said quickly. “I’ll set the stones up in formation.” She sighed. “I wish we had some damned thread.”

“I can get you some yarn,” Lachlan offered. “Here, let me set up the racks and I’ll go ask Ellen. She does spinning and weaving demonstrations. I’m sure I can get the colors you need.”

He took the tablecloth from the plastic bin Bartholomew kept for setup without needing to be shown. He’d watched Bartholomew countless times, Bartholomew so completely immersed in his task, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth while muttering to himself, that Lachlan could have set the booth up in his sleep.

Which reminded him…. “You guys know, I’ve seen your booth setup a thousand times. I’ve never seen the stones or the string. What are you using them for?” Particularly when everybody seemed so stressed and out of time.

“Nothing,” Bartholomew said at the same time Kate said, “Protection.”

Lachlan’s hands stilled as he settled the tablecloth, the pentagram with the cookie in the center logo facing out toward the gathering crowd.

“Protection?” he asked. “From what?”

Bartholomew licked his lips and gave Kate a pleading look. “Kate, do we really have to—”

“Barty, there was a flock of starlings. And I know the damned things are always spinning around in the fall, but they were flying upside down.”

Bartholomew’s face—already sort of pale and hard to tan—went downright mashed-potato pasty. “But here… there’s no magic here,” he practically wailed. And then his eyes, gray and shiny and luminous, met Lachlan’s. “Almost no magic here,” he whispered apologetically.

Lachlan grinned, both trying to get him to snap out of whatever funk he seemed to be spiraling into and charmed.

Almost no magic. Like Lachlan was magic. Lachlan’s instincts had been right on point. Bartholomew was that into him!

“We don’t know that for certain,” Kate snapped. “And after those starlings….”

They both shuddered, and even Lachlan, who knew nothing about magic or omens, could tell that a giant flock of birds flying upside down was bad on both points.

“What makes you think it’s you guys?” he asked.

“We cast a spell,” Bartholomew said, surprising him. In spite of the rather whimsical name of the booth, Shortbread and Shadows, Lachlan never would have expected someone as… well, grounded, to be mixed up in something like witchcraft. Dress up for the conventions, yes. Bartholomew had a rather handsome set of bardic leathers, done in green, that he wore sometimes when he knew for certain the theme was Renaissance or sword and sorcery. But actually casting a spell?

Lachlan shifted uneasily. “Who’s you?”

“Never mind,” Bartholomew whispered. “Here, give me the racks—”

“No, no. I’ll set up the racks. You stock them.”

Lachlan got to work on the wooden racks, attempting to find some purchase. “I just never knew real witches before,” he said, smiling like it wasn’t a bad thing. “My grandmother used to leave out beer for brownies, though.”

Bartholomew and Kate met eyes. “I’ll tell Jordan,” she said, like they’d actually said something. “He’ll probably try it.”

“Try what?” Lachlan worked very hard not to break the wooden rack he was fiddling with. “And please don’t take this the wrong way, but this thing is a cheap piece of shit, and I’d love to make you another one that might actually set up without threatening to snap into kindling.”

“I….” Bartholomew cleared his throat. “Your work’s too good,” he said. “I’m afraid to even price them out with someone who knows what he’s doing.”

“Our friend Dante made these,” Kate said. “During his woodworking phase. He, uh, didn’t stick with it long.”

“For you, I’d do it at